


Flash

by cats_mother (phoebesmum)



Category: Sports Night
Genre: F/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-26
Updated: 2009-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-03 19:22:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoebesmum/pseuds/cats_mother
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natalie knows better than to reach out and grab - but a girl can dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flash

**Author's Note:**

> Written January 2007 for oxoniensis's Porn Battle. Prompt: Dan/Natalie, 'bottom line'.

Bottom line is: he was the one you really wanted. The first day he walked into the studio, tall and slim and dark, his hair swept back from his face, hawklike profile daunting at first, but mitigated by the softness of his eyes, the sweet curve of his mouth; you glanced up from the conference table and your hands, sorting schedules, fell still. Your eyes raked him quickly up and down, noting the way his jeans clung to his thighs, the curve of his ass as he turned back at the door to speak to someone behind him, the delicious promise that lay behind his fly buttons. Beneath the table you crossed your legs with more haste than discreetness, and didn't stand up when he reached across to shake your hand. Thank god you didn't. The touch of his skin, warm, dry, against your own suddenly sweaty palm, sent a tingle through you, brainstem to gut to cunt in less time than it took for the image to flash up in your brain of you …

\- standing, grabbing the skinny tie he is, incongruously, wearing with his jeans, dragging him forward across the boardroom table and kissing him stupid, flinging telephones, coffee cups, paperwork, all to the floor with one sweep of your arm and pulling him down on the table, down on top of you, your hands ripping the shirttails out of his jeans and running up the smooth, bare skin of his back, your left hand lingering there, touching the sharp bones of his shoulder, and you breathe in the smell of him (soap and shampoo, fresh sweat, the musk of arousal) while your left slides downwards again, unbuttons his fly, slips inside (is he wearing underwear? You'd bet money he's not), wraps around his cock that will already have grown hard, its tip weeping with desire for you, and his own hands will be fumbling, tearing at your sweater so greedily that at least one button pops across the room, pulling your skirt up, your panties down, his hands sliding between your legs, his fingers sliding into you …

You blinked. "Hi," you said. "Natalie Hurley. Good to meet you, Dan. I'm looking forward to working with you."

Because you're a professional, and you know how to behave.

But the bottom line is: you've wanted him all this time. And tonight – tonight, at long last, you're going to make your move.

***


End file.
